


Arachnophobia

by a_nonny_moose



Series: 100 Quote Prompts [24]
Category: Markiplier Egos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 03:30:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12123576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_nonny_moose/pseuds/a_nonny_moose
Summary: Doc's afraid of spiders. Wilford tries to have fun, but things go awry...





	Arachnophobia

"Wow, that's a weird-looking bug!" 

[[MORE]]

 Dr. Iplier, concerned Wilford would try to 'pet' it, looked over quickly-- even so, Google_G got there first. 

 "Wilford," he beeped, pulling Wilford back by his collar, "that is a brown recluse spider." Everyone in the room leapt to their feet. 

The four Googles pushed Wilford back, surrounding the spider. Wilford, staggering, tried to peek over their shoulders at the cute new 'bug.' Bim, assured of safety by the Googles' presence, stepped carefully closer to see. 

 Across the room, Dr. Iplier felt his skin crawl, and he started backing away. He couldn't do spiders. They had too many legs and honestly, it was just creepy. Recluse spiders, even he knew, were dangerous. All in all, there was no way he was getting near it. 

 "Hey Doc, get a load of this!" 

 No, no way. There was absolutely no way. 

Wilford looked back at him, grinning mischievously. "Aww, Doc, spiders don't bite, check it out!" 

 "Actually, Wilford--" 

 Wilford cut Oliver off, hurrying back towards the Doctor. 

 A horrible moment, and Wilford was pulling Dr. Iplier closer to their little circle, staring down at the spider. "Will, I _really_ don't want to--" 

 Oh no. That was a really big spider. Oh no. 

Wait, was it... moving? 

Oh, no.

“It would appear that the spider has several spiderlings on its-- her-- back,” Google_G said, a note of interest in his voice, leaning closer. He reached forward, bent on prodding the middle of the huddled legs and shining eyes.   


“I _really_ think I should go...” Dr. Iplier began backing away, prying Wilford’s hands off him.   


Wilford reached back for him, but Google_R caught him by the shoulder, shaking his head. “What?” Wilford huffed, watching as the Doctor hurried out the door. “It’s just a bug!”

“An arachnid,” Oliver corrected, eyes flashing. “Informally, spiders are not known as bugs, because--  


“Wilford, you cannot _terrorize_ the Doctor with spiders,” Google_R said, rolling his eyes with a light whirr.   


“Well, why n--”  


There was a loud, alarmed beep, and Google_G went stumbling back, joints whirring violently as he flailed. “Spiders!”

Google_B caught him, brushing the near-transparent babies off of his hand, an annoyed look on his face. “Would you-- hold still,” he scolded, sweeping the spiders back towards their mother. 

Bim saw the light in Wilford’s eyes and sighed. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Wilford wiggled his mustache innocently, watching the Googles collectively scramble to get a spider out of the joints of Google_G’s hand without hurting it. Oliver glanced over his shoulder at him. “I’m not going to do _anything_.”  


Bim rubbed his head, trying to hide his giggles. “Wilford, really--”

When he looked up, it was just him, Google_R, _B, and _G in the room. The spider and her babies-- spiderlings?-- were gone, a dusting of glitter and the smell of oil hanging in the air. 

“Oh, no.”  


* * *

“Doc!” Wilford burst into the clinic in distress, clutching his arm. “Doc?!”  


Dr. Iplier hurried out of the bathroom, face still a little pale, but looking better than he had in the Googles’ room. He sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, but as he approached Wilford, he hurriedly pulled them down, professional. “Wilford? What’s wrong?” Immediate concern colored his voice.

Wilford sunk into a chair, shaking, fingers white where he kept pressure on his arm. The Doctor helped him sit, careful, but a kind of skepticism nagging at the back of his brain. Wilford had pretended before. Wilford had broken his trust one too many times, and even as the Doctor bent over Will, he was looking for any sign that he was faking. 

“What happened?” Wilford’s hand was clamped tight on his forearm, skin blanching. Dr. Iplier watched as a tendril of bright-red blood curled down his arm.   


“I-- I was trying to get the spider...” Wilford said, a shiver going through him.  


Dr. Iplier’s eyes flicked over Will. He was shaking in the chair, sweat starting to bead against his hairline. His skin an unnatural pale, skin fading past Mark’s usual undertones of yellow and going straight to green, red-purple splotches making their way up his arm. Wilford looked up at him, looking like he was panicking, and the Doctor saw his bottom lip quiver in something akin to fear. 

Okay, maybe he wasn’t faking. 

“Did it bite you?” Dr. Iplier made a sprint for his laptop, pulling up a list of symptoms.   


Wilford nodded, shaky, and Dr. Iplier reached out to put a hand over his as the laptop worked. Wilford’s skin was hot, and his entire body twitched, like chills were shooting through his spine. As the Doctor watched, he jerked, holding his stomach. 

He was checking all the boxes, and Dr. Iplier was nothing short of terrified. Not even Wilford was _this_ good at acting. 

“Lie down,” he commanded, grabbing his shoulder. With a heave, he pulled Wilford up and onto the examination table, watching him pale.   


Wilford sat back, gulping, eyes on the ceiling. His hand didn’t move from his arm. 

Dr. Iplier sprinted, now, grabbing a swabs and a roll of gauze. He didn’t have much experience with spider bites, but he sanitized his hands and hoped for the best. By the look of Wilford’s arm, it might already be too late. 

“Okay, okay,” he panted, skidding to a stop over Wilford, already reaching for his arm, palm glowing with healing energy. “Let me see.”

“I’m... sorry, Doc,” Wilford whispered, voice shaking.  

Dr. Iplier didn’t bother glancing at his face-- he knew, already, that Wilford was drawn and pale. 

He gently pulled Wilford’s hand away, and blood cascaded freely down his arm. Dark, red blood.

“...”  


A pink bubble encased the mother spider and her children, a dark, moving mass trapped inside the unbreakable, floating sphere. As Dr. Iplier watched, Wilford moved his hand away and the bubble floated up to eye level, mocking him. 

Ugh, spiders.

Ugh, Wilford. 

The Doctor chanced a look at Wilford, who was suddenly the picture of health. Skin back to its usual ruddy tan, sweat gone, a smile across his cheeks. 

“You should’ve seen your face,” he started to chortle, leaning back on the examination table. The squib he’d been holding, full of fake blood, fell to the floor with a wet splat, pooling on the clean tile. Of course it wasn’t his blood. Wilford bled pink. How could he be so _stupid--_  


“I got that in 4k!” Dr. Iplier whipped around to see Oliver peeking around the door, recording, a wide smirk on his face.   


Wilford laughed, a full-belly sound, and Oliver began to chuckle.

There was a ringing in Dr. Iplier’s ears. 

Wilford hopped off the table and walked over to Oliver, holding his hand up for a high-five. The bubble full of spiders followed him over, hovering over his shoulder. After a moment, Oliver understood and slapped his palm. “That was fantastic,” he chuckled, catching his breath. Wilford stretched his suspenders out, turning back to the Doctor. “That’s going to be great for movie night.”

Dr. Iplier stood over the empty exam table, shoulders shaking. 

“Wilford,” Oliver whispered, low enough that the Doctor could pretend not to hear, “I think something is--”  


“Nah, Doc’s a good sport, aren’t you, Doc?” Wilford summoned a candy cane out of the air and sucked noisily on the end, winking.   


A beat, and Dr. Iplier walked in the opposite direction without turning to face them, slamming his office door behind him.

“Wilford,” Oliver started, reproachful, but he didn’t get to finish.   


Wilford turned on his heel, muttering, “He ruins all my fun,” and there was a faint _pop_  above him. 

Oliver turned on his camera again as Wilford ran across the clinic, screaming, spiders covering his shoulders and crawling into his shirt. 

“Getthemoff _getthemoff **getthemoff**_!”  


Oliver chuckled dryly, leaning against the door. He didn’t have the heart to tell Wilford that there was only one spider actually on him, clinging to his shirt for dear life. If robots believed in karma, this was it. 

Wilford eventually had the presence of mind to run outside, down the hall to his room, still screaming. Heads popped out of doors behind him, listening, until the sound of a running shower came from his room. 

Oliver sighed, closing the clinic door behind him, shaking his head in amusement.

And not a sound from the Doctor’s office. 


End file.
